Eyes of the Beholder - The Genesis of Eternity
by VintageTorquoise
Summary: <html><head></head>Merely four centuries before the demise of Garternay, a young Writer named Fi'tai discovers a project of major significance. But a war caused by the re-discovery of a long-forgotten Age and its extended effects will drive him into the arms of an angel. *a mini-entry for the Journal of the Orator continuity*</html>


**Author's note**: Here I explore an interesting concept - what if the Ori manipulated events on Garternay early in ronay history? This was the result. For the record, I will follow Myst canon in this story as best I can. Garternay is a mystery, even to Myst enthusiasts, so I've had to get creative with this story!

The Ori don't get a lot of screen-time here, but the sequel I'll be posting up soon (titled "Of Gods & Ascension") will focus almost exclusively on them. The last scene is particularly important to understanding _Of Gods & Ascension_.

* * *

><p>A scene is etched into this piece of parchment. The image moves upon the page as the others you had already encountered. However, it is what is inside the image that is unfamiliar to you.<p>

You see a marvelous city of stone at the base of a dormant volcano. The otherwise exotic architecture resembles that of ancient Mesopotamian cultures. Amidst the trapezoidal towers are shorter buildings of two or three floors each, apparently connected to each other in a manner resembling those of the residences in the ancient city of Ur. In the distance, you would see a great lighthouse that could put the one at Alexandria to shame; it was cylindrical and topped with a rounded roof composed of red tiles (like those used in Renaissance Italy). An open sea bordered the city on one side, and it appeared that the volcano in the distance was resting next to it. The rest of the realm, as far as you can see, is composed of mountainous hills blanketed in thick rainforest.

Though tempted as you might be, you know that this portal is as superficial as the others. Touching it would send you nowhere, and it would be a waste of time - albeit a very short waste of time.

When you turn your attention back to the image, you see it begin to zoom into the middle of the city streets, where people in simple robes and dresses stride in ease. The roads between the buildings are composed of a brown cobblestone, and you can clearly see the occasional sign or marking beside (or on) various doors. As the sky has begun to darken above the city, you notice spherical gas lamps of a sort, several already lighting the path beyond. A shout comes from a nearby alleyway, and the image begins to focus in that crevice.

A man, dressed in robes of black and red, scurried between buildings as hastily as he could. His expression was clearly one of fear and anxiety, and the way he gripped the book under his arm made no secret that he was tense. When he reached the end of the alley, his eyes darted left to right and back again, as though he was debating which way to go. Suddenly, the shouting of a particularly gruff man could be heard again, but the man did not turn to look; instead, the image ascended just above his shoulder, revealing three men in open robes (akin to those the Assassins wore on Earth) rushing toward him with spears and swords. People merely stared blankly as the man dashed away to the right, heading toward an end of the city facing the vast green expanse beyond.

Before he could reach the city wall, however, another trio of guards stepped out onto the road in front of him. The figure being pursued caught sight of an open door to his left, and with no time to lose, ran toward it. Though the guards soon covered that distance, the man had already entered the house and climbed the wooden ladder on the other side of the room. As two of them followed him in, the residence's family watching on in a mix of confusion and annoyance.

After a short amount of time, the men that had followed the hellion onto the roof cast their gaze across the city's rooftops, but saw no sign of the man. Thinking it best not to leave the matter unresolved, they returned to the ladder as quickly as they could, leaving behind the man, who was hanging off the edge of the building with his book gripped tightly with his free hand. Before the guards could pass that alleyway he had hidden between, the figure pulled himself back up and fell to his back. His breathing was heavy, and he looked wearily at the sky as the portal zoomed into his eye before fading to black.

* * *

><p>"The heretic has been cast out from among us, my lady."<p>

Those were the words uttered by a stout old man in the traditional garb worn by the Maintainers. Their role was to determine what was permitted to be written using the Art - that very same means the ronay used to write entire worlds into existence.

"Good," spoke the woman whom he was addressing. She stood atop an elevated stone floor, the majestic stained glass window behind her casting an eerie copper glow that outlined every contour of her slim robe. "Our ancestors made the mistake of letting one such as him write freely with the Art. We cannot let our past repeat itself again."

What the lady spoke of was true. In ancient times, when the Art was first discovered, the primitive ronay wrote into existence many worlds without once considering the consequences. With no Guild of Maintainers, they could make and break worlds at their very whim. This led to the historical connection with one in particular: the Age of Pegasi.

After she waved the elder away, she turned and faced the window that depicted a scene that all ronay of Yahvo's Chosen were expected to know. It was that of a golden light in the sky, and beneath it were two armies depicted as a series of male figures in a very Bordeaux way. Blood spilled from men on both ends, but what was most interesting about it was not the raw carnage displayed - it was what wrought this carnage in the first place.

"The weapons of the ancestors," the priestess uttered beneath her breath. Indeed, nothing else had occupied her thoughts since the day she discovered what it truly meant. The men in the image were carrying sticks that shot forth flaming arrows. That was the whole reason for the Maintainers existence, and the reason why the Age of Pegasi was buried long ago, for it brought with it terrible tales of death by weapons far superior - and exceptionally more fatal to larger numbers - than the simple spears and swords the Blessed Empire used.

When the first Writers visited the Age of Pegasi, they discovered a nascent race living on the planet. Their people were called Gi'ni in the classical dialect of the ronay, though many preferred to think of them as the Outsiders. Regardless, they had knowledge of a form of weaponry that could not be replicated on Garternay: gunpowder. It was a fact that even their entire civilization had been based upon it, though only in small amounts.

Ancestors of the modern ronay began trading with them in exchange for this mysterious new substance - but what they offered in return would have made the deal far too unbalanced to any sane person of today. The ronay traded away the secrets of the Art, including the rare and valuable Ink used to construct new Ages from nothing. And so the earliest ronay developed these weapons and put them to use against one another in pointless wars over Garternay's extensive resources.

When the people grew tired of the death and destruction they faced, they revolted against their masters and tried to have the Age of Pegasi destroyed. Instead, a misguided Writer had fled with the book and buried it somewhere where nobody could find it. The secret of its location died with him.

But perhaps it wasn't merely this event that was important.

* * *

><p>"My dearest Evra,<p>

I write this letter to you in the hopes that you will forgive me. My desire to be in this war was not one born of hate or malice. But even so, I have slandered my name, Fi'tai, and the names of my forefathers by choosing to ignore your advice. For that, I ask your forgiveness. Perhaps I will never be worthy of it, but even so, I must ask; if not that, then at least offer me your time and patience, as the love you've bestowed upon me these years has not been forsaken.

You know of our people, the ronay - how we are the architects of realms far beyond our own here on Garternay. You are also aware of the sprawling kingdom I am from - one we arrogantly knew as the Blessed Empire of Yahvo, and which you have rightfully called the Kingdom of Fools. We had a sprawling capital city in which great monuments flourished, and we even boasted the great Guilds of which you are now familiar with: the Guild of Maintainers, the Guild of Ink-Makers, and especially the Guild of Writers.

What you do not know is how the events of my past shaped my present stance regarding the war between our two peoples. That is why I hope to defend my decision, but by no means bury yours. My beautiful wife, if I truly had any choice, I would be home with you and our beautiful son and daughters. But this is something that must be done, and I cannot live with myself until we are at peace.

In the beginning, I was born to Koo'n and Re'ma, both members of prominent noble families in my village. We had all the money we could need, and I wanted for nothing when I was young. Thus I was raised a spoiled lad from infancy. Even the other children called me such; no doubt the relative success my family had was a source of jealousy among those I grew up with.

But one day I came across a Writer of our village: a man named Rif'un, who brought with him stories of new worlds that we could never imagine, all written in the linking books we only saw once in a blue moon. I was enchanted, as were many in the village, but my parents had the money and prestige to call upon the Writer for an enormous favor:

I was to be his apprentice. Of course, Rif'un wished to turn me down, but then one day, he inextricably accepted the offer. I was never told the reason for his change of heart, but I couldn't have been any happier. A week later, I left with Rif'un to the great city and settled among the other apprentices in the Guild of Writers.

Years later, I celebrated my 25th birthday with my family in the halls of our city's Temple of Light. It was then that I became a Writer in my own right, and the Guild gave me many new responsibilities that came with my newly acquired position. What I hadn't expected was a responsibility thrust upon me by Rif'un himself, especially since he was to retire soon after that day.

The Perfect Age: a world our people agreed could not be reached without the sharp kiss of death. As you know, that celestial haven is meant to be the resting place for all our souls and spirits. But what would happen if someone could link to it? What if a path to its eternal pastures could be opened by the hands of an entire generation of people? Would we solve the problems of mortal suffering once and for all?

That is precisely what Rif'un was trying to find out over his many years as a Writer. His work had to be kept secret from the Guild, lest they try him for heresy. However, he told me that a prophet named Oorpah was holding on to something that would help me in my quest to further craft a link to that undiscovered country from whence none have ever returned.

When I found this Oorpah, he was bedridden - struck with an illness no doctor had ever seen before. The handmaiden made certain he was comfortable before leaving us to speak. But instead of addressing me, Oorpah merely stared off into the distance. It didn't occur to me at the time, but he was blind - by what, I can't say. All I know is that he was uttering some words about a 'scourge' that would one day plague our kind. Even to this day, I do not know what he meant.

What I do know is that he pointed me to his bookshelf, which stood unsteadily by the door that led out into the entryway. He whispered the word "Baik'Yahvo", which I soon discovered was a title for a dusty old tome that looked far more ancient than even the lost Book of Pegasi. It surprised me, however, that it was much smaller and lighter, and I eventually realized that it was a journal - a journal and a linking book.

For the first time that day, Oorpah acknowledged my existence when he stated in no uncertain terms that the book was meant for me, and me only - until the day would come that I could trust it with another. "When the time comes," he proclaimed, "pass the book to another. Let it be written by many. Unite all the voices that speak, but let them be heard."

I asked him how that could be done, and the only response I received was thus: "All that lives have stories to tell. Let them be heard, Fi'tai. Let them be heard."

The venerable old sage fell asleep upon those words, and I was ushered out of the house by the handmaiden that watched so dutifully over him. But even as I clutched the book tightly to my chest, I could not have imagined the amount of danger it would soon put my- our lives in.

Fi'tai"

* * *

><p>"I swear to uphold my promise to love and cherish our relationship, and never falter in my promise to neither you nor our Father in heaven."<p>

Fi'tai recited those words with his hands on one side of the triangular podium, his future wife's on the other. On the third side was the prophetess Kaela herself, overlooking the ceremony with mute satisfaction. Throughout the rest of the wedding chamber were only a few of the bride's family. Many chose to come out of a sense of duty rather than a desire to see this member of their family be married to an outsider - an exile no less! - who had no family to speak of.

What may have been the most significant fact was that they were all beneath a dome of glass framed by winding lines of vines made of a material that shined like gold and silver. The light in the building was caused by a sparkling effect, which itself was caused by the very vines that now held the structure intact against the crushing depth of sea beyond. The occasional fish of varying size swam by, its scales gleaming a pearly white hue of their own natural gifts.

"Remember," cracked Kaela's elderly voice in the silence that followed. "Marriage is meant for those who will love with the mind, no matter the body. It is a representation of your love for Yahvo, and one that should never be taken lightly."

As the older woman spoke, Fi'tai couldn't help but be entranced by Evra's sharp, inquisitive eyes. They stared straight through his, reaching into the very recesses of his mind to extract the secrets therein. Perhaps that was the whole reason he fell in love with her. That look was only further supported by her analytical nature, which brought her to discover why he was exiled from the Blessed Empire. And when she learned of his great undertaking to create a link to the Perfect Age, she was far more curious and less offended than anyone else he had ever met.

But it was not only Kaela's words that marked the moment as something sacred, nor the ever-present gaze of his lovely soon-to-be wife. A school of those radiant fish had gathered in the distance and now swam around and over the dome, lighting it in a manner that left a glimmer upon all the ceremony's participants. Even Kaela could not keep her eyes off the spectacular display, which few visitors to the Age of Anogelto had ever seen.

"It is a sign," Kaela spoke quietly, but nothing could tear away Fi'tai and Evra's devoted admiration. "The Father of all ronay has blessed your marriage here today, Fi'tai - Evra. Let your lives forever be devoted to what He desires of you, and do not be discouraged... nor impeded by those that are clouded by the shadows of fear."

When the flashback to the day he and Evra married had ended, Fi'tai was left standing on the edge of a mountain overlooking the city of Gahropat - capital of the Blessed Empire where he spent all his years as a Writer. Little had changed, but there was a far more sinister cloud lingering in the air above.

Behind him was an entire field of soldiers standing in formation, flags with the dot and crescent moon cropping up in various places among them. The wind had just begun to pick up, softly blowing through his new grey and blue cloak, which was the standard uniform worn by all military Generals among the People of the Rock. His entire life led up to this single moment - a moment marred only by the warnings left by his wife, Evra, the day he left.

"You are not meant to leave us like this, Fi'tai!" Evra pleaded as she held Fi'tai by the arm. He tried not to look her in the eye, but she insistently stepped into his field of vision whenever he looked away. Her expression was one of confusion, though Fi'tai swore that there was an accusing tint to it. "You have a son now, and two daughters on the way! You still have your book to write! Yahvo doesn't want you to be mixed up in the conflicts of mortal men; he wants you to learn from them, as we've both done all these years!"

Indeed, Evra was instrumental in aiding Fi'tai in writing the design for the Perfect Age. They had to seek out other Ages to explore in the process, seeking answers to questions that cropped up whenever they were writing in the journal of Baik'Yahvo. Among those questions was one in particular: what was the cause of suffering and conflict? They spent many years seeking the answer to that question, going from Age to Age where tribes and entire nations were at war with one another, all in search of a similar underlying cause.

Yet they never found it. Not before the beast that was Fi'tai's childhood home razed the lands between here and the People of the Rock. And what's more, they had the weapons of their ancestors: the fahm'tert, or fire sticks.

"I have to do this, Evra," Fi'tai growled as he turned and faced her, though even that moment of confidence couldn't last under her scrutiny. "How can I hope to accomplish a world free of pain when I haven't even erased it from this one?"

"No one man can ever save an entire world forever. The cure to all suffering is not in the hands of a single individual." Evra narrowed her focus on him as they stood in the darkened palace courtyard. "We all have stories to tell, Fi'tai. You must open your eyes to see that... to see that we must all do our part."

"This was my duty from the start, Evra." Though her words struck a chord with Fi'tai, he shook his head and pulled away from her. Then he started to leave. "And it's my job to finish it."

"Shall we begin the assault, my liege?"

Fi'tai opened his eyes again to see the city sprawled out in front of him. Guards walked the walls beyond, the torches they carried leaving an eerie glow that surrounded the city. It was like a noose that was ready to be tightened around them at any time.

"Sir?" The soldier standing beside Fi'tai asked once more.

After carefully looking out over the city one last time, Fi'tai swallowed the lump that had been growing his throat since moments before... and then he slowly nodded once.

The siege of Gahropat had begun. But even as the soldiers geared up for this final battle, the prophetess of Yahvo that had ordered Fi'tai's exile stood at the top of the stairs leading up to the front doors of the Great Temple. Her arms held behind her, she looked up into the night sky and smiled. She then whispered beneath her breath, knowing full well 'they' could hear her:

"It has begun."

* * *

><p><em>"Evra," Fi'tai first spoke the name. "It's beautiful."<em>

_She replied with a smile, "It means 'eternity'. My mother gave it to me before I was born."_

Those were the words spoken between the two mere days before her discovery of Fi'tai's plan to write the Perfect Age. They were also the only words that echoed through his heart and mind the day she died.

Long ago, their efforts to craft the Perfect Age was whispered among several of the finest Writers among the People of the Rock. Through them, the king himself soon heard of their enterprise and brought them to his palace. With his support, they were able to visit many more Ages than ever before, and at the same time, work on the Age progressed swiftly. It would have continued being so... if the war had never reawakened Fi'tai's ultimate fear: that his people would soon destroy themselves due to their pride.

When Fi'tai had left his wife and children to fight in that war, he had neglected to realize that the king was not a popular figure. After blessing the marriage between the daughter of a prophetess and an outsider with no family to back him, King Pah'kr had alienated many of the nobility, who saw the union as one tainted by the blood of their ancestors - most of whom had been murdered by the Blessed Empire many, many centuries ago. They saw it as a betrayal of everything their forefathers had fought - and died - for.

That was why the king's nephew, Ne'rar, became the new favorite. This young man of eloquent tongue and charisma brought many of the richest together for a scheme that would put his father aside and leave him with the throne. So they conspired, and not even the king's favorites, Fi'tai and Evra, would ever learn of Ne'rar's deception before it began. Poisoned at a feast celebrating one of the greatest harvests of the year, Pah'kr fell ill and died the night the first Ori arrived on Garternay.

It was the first night in which the pernicious Manea convinced the young ronay priestess, Yi'ldra, that her god had sent the Ori as angels meant to lead her people into a better future. Taken in so easily by the miracles Manea had shown her, Yi'ldra agreed to marry the king of the Blessed Empire at the Ori's behest. After bringing him the linking book to the Age of Pegasi that had long been buried and hidden far beyond the city, located first by the dissonant Ori, Yi'ldra became Manea's mouthpiece.

With trade re-established with the Age of Pegasi, gunpowder was re-introducted to the First Kingdom. The king became engrossed in the idea that all ronay would one day be subject to him. Thus he, with the encouragement of Yi'ldra and the acquiescence of Manea, began a war of conquest against all neighboring peoples... including the People of the Rock among whom Evra was raised. That was when King Pah'kr retaliated, all with the help of Fi'tai, who brought with him the knowledge of warfare from many different Ages.

The final clash was between Fi'tai and Yi'ldra in the Temple of Yahvo. There, Yi'ldra had become a Doci - one possessed or otherwise brainwashed completely by the Ori. Even though they fought, it wasn't until Yi'ldra gained the upper hand with the powers of the Ori that her own end was marked in blood. That blood was Evra's, who had arrived at the climax of the battle in time to stab Yi'ldra in the back with the very blade Fi'tai had dropped. But as Yi'ldra died, the flames of the Ori that left her body soon engulfed Evra.

When it was over, the beloved wife of Fi'tai was gone.

Her sacrifice was never forgotten in the centuries hence - not to Fi'tai and his descendants. Either in honor of her memory, or as a final prayer to the wise and mighty Yahvo, he formally named the unfinished 'Perfect Age': the Age of Evra. The Age of Eternity.

Little did he realize how true that Age would live up to its new name.

* * *

><p>Long ago, in the Age of Pegasi, which had been buried on Garternay, a group of Gi'ni Writers were preparing to leave their world on a mission of exploration and potential colonization. Within an ancient fortress, one reconstituted to be the home of the Gi'ni Guild of Writers, were not only the Writers themselves but also a great many scientists and historians. The Gi'ni Emperor was more than happy to fund their efforts, expecting the payoffs to be great.<p>

"Lies," grumbled one of the Gi'ni Writers as he stood opposite a table with four others. They had all gathered in the dusty old chambers beneath the Fortress to usher in a grand new occasion. But the Writer known as Tereus looked no more happier than an irate child.

"If you want to sign your death warrant, be our guest." The apparent leader of the group was a man who wore the grey and black brigantine overtop a darker uniform with long sleeves. None of the others wished to speak out against him, though Tereus looked unafraid. "The Emperor will not be missing just one among you."

"Ilus, this was written by a man we executed fifteen years ago - the same man that failed to keep us in contact with the ronay."

"Precisely why we need to use it, Tereus," Ilus responded in a matter-of-fact sort of way. "With the ronay's world now lost to us, we have no other means to produce the Ink we need. Though our scientists seek alternatives, the Emperor has demanded we prepare for the worst."

"Rubbish," Tereus muttered again, though a bit louder for emphasis. But this time, before Ilus could even open his mouth, Tereus continued, "How can the emperor act as though this is anything more than his personal retreat should his war with the Dalia state fail? A war he started, no less!"

"I suggest you hold your tongue, Writer, before I cut it from you." When Ilus made this sinister threat, the other Writers grew noticeably more uneasy. The Age of Subaris, a small, slightly tattered journal that had been clearly mishandled by the soldiers who retrieved it was still sitting on the table in front of them. "You will do as the Emperor commands - nothing more, nothing less. Is that understood?"

Through clenched teeth, Tereus growled, "Perfectly." Thus did Ilus use that cue to reach over and open the book to its first page, whereupon a moving image could be seen. He turned it around and slid it over to where Tereus was standing. But the cynical fellow only glared at the book with avarice.

"Well, Tereus?" Ilus frowned as he shot an equally potent glare at the Writer. "What are you waiting for?"

Tereus said nothing, for he knew that doing so would be pointless. Once the corrupt Emperor had his mind set on something, it could never be changed. Now he was forced to stare into the portal leading to a world never seen before by anyone in that room... except him.

"You will obey Father's command," Ilus said while removing the flintlock pistol from the holster at his side. "Or you will die here, and someone else will carry on this endeavor."

It took him several moments to examine the Writers that had ignored him all those years, giving them each an incriminating look. Had they listened to his warnings, he wouldn't be here now - in fact, they would still be trading with Garternay, and no-one would have been the wiser. But dwelling on what could have been was a futile endeavor, Tereus knew as he studied the portal on the book's first page. Garternay evaded them because of the eternal strife the Gi'ni Empire had given them. Now they were about to pay the price for their hubris.

Before Ilus could even raise his gun, Tereus slowly reached forward with his hand hovering over the entry to another universe. With one last, deep breath, he touched the surface and was engulfed in a bright light.

Then suddenly, he woke up. His head felt heavy, and his eyes throbbed with pain. The room around him was relatively dark, though he could clearly see that it was large and open. The luminous, umber marble floor reflected the soft lighting from numerous short pillars set along the edge.

As Tereus struggled to raise his head, he could see little but the distant figures of two men in some kind of armor with long, silver staffs in their hands. Before he could finally grasp his situation, a door hidden in the wall ahead of him slid open, casting a light that caused Tereus to close his eyes tightly and bow his head in pain.

It was only when the light subsided that he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. As he opened his eyes, he could see the blurred form of a white robe and grey shoes covering the distance between the doorway and himself as slowly and deliberately as a monk. Then he stopped in front of the middle-aged Gi'ni, who was barely able to raise his head even further. That was when he saw what he could only describe as the face of a pale, daunting man whose head was framed by a decorated collar piece that rose off of his robe.

"Hallowed are the Ori."


End file.
